In my anxiety, I fail to remember why I’ve chosen this path, and make no mistake, these WERE my own choices. I can blame whoever and whatever I want, but the bottom line is, I consciously called the shots.  I was physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausted.  I was sweeping handfuls of hair down the drain with each shower, and overwhelming stress was the culprit.  I was sleeping so much that family members were forced to penetrate my fortress, just to make sure I was still breathing when I had slept through the incessant ringing of my phone.  I have done this for so long that  I no longer remember exactly what makes me happy, what I like to do, and with whom I like to do it.  But in the face of change, I tend to discount these very valid points and instead fearfully reach behind me for what is familiar, what seems safe.  What happened to the brave girl who knew no fear?  The scrapper who saw no obstacles, whose determination, when channeled, was formidable? 

I know I was that girl once.  I know it.  I’ve erroneously assumed that I was STILL that girl, but when I was held up to the light, the counterfeit was unmistakeable.  And I hate it.  My competence is questionable when I am faced with change.  I am strong and able, but only when my circumstances are predictable.  I am fearless only when my path is charted.  I am not who I envisioned myself to be. 

The question now is, how do I get back?